


Giving It A Chance

by Pearlqueen55



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complicated Relationships, F/F, F/M, Female Sherlock, Lols, On point, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlqueen55/pseuds/Pearlqueen55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a women.<br/>John is a dude.<br/>The game is on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought this would be a pretty interesting fan fic because, hey, I think a female Sherlock would be epic xD  
> Please leave some thoughts because I am a noob. It happens.
> 
> Annnnnd I do not own anything of Sherlock 
> 
> But it would be so epic if I did, not gonna lie lol

Air vents?  
No, murderer too big to navigate through easily.  
Custodian? Hmm possibly, but still to obvious.  
Miss Sherlock Holmes took a look around this perimeter of the room, her eyes clinging onto every little detail.Where? Where was the answer? This was the only case Lestrade had that looked promising to her. It has got to at least be a six. The young detective squinted at a faint shoe smudge located near the window which led to a 24 foot drop below. She bent down to get a better look and gather more data. Dull. Sherlock slowly arose with a sigh and walked to the waiting inspector detective waiting near the door.  
It was fun while it lasted.  
"Well?" asked Lestrade, squirming to hear the details.  
"What you have here is merely assassin work, nothing of the contrary. The person you are looking for is about six feet and most likely a Caucasian male with the age of mid twenties. This job was a private one, meaning the person who sent the killer wanted the multi-millionaire dead for more personal reasons other than business. I would say your best bet to find the assassin is to any nearby wooded areas for the show marks contain more vegetation that normal in a city like this. As for the person who sent this assassin, look into the childhood history of the dead man and learn all the backgrounds." She shot out all the facts without even taking a breath. When she was done she simply wiped her brow, flipped her hair back, and started walking out.  
Lestrade quickly stopped her. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. Are you just messing with me?"  
Sherlock calmly turned back to the man and replied, "Have I ever disappointed you, Lestrade?"  
Lestrade took a deep sigh and started texting away on his phone. "Anyway I was wondering if you wanted to grab something-" He heard the door close before he could finish his offer.  
Miss Holmes will definitely be the death of him. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sherlock wandered the streets of London during midnight trying to find something that will keep her mind busy. She never did enjoy the company of others; others felt the same way about her. It was not that Sherlock was unattractive, she was in fact flawless. She was a tall 6"1 with stunning curves and bright blue eyes. Her long jet-black hair was always lose and was naturally curled perfectly; no curling iron could do that well a job. She always dressed professionally despite the occasion; black dress pants, white button up, blazer. On top of that she wore a dark pea coat which was always paired with her trusty blue scarf. However, when it came to her behavior, people were not too comfy around the detective. Countless men (and some women) would try hard to hit on her only get shot down by some remark from her about their flaws and dirty habits. They were all morons. Sherlock sighed to herself as she walked farther and farther. Days like this were the worst for her. Her mind was full and racing and buzzing with activity; yet she had nothing to put it to use. Controlling her mind was far too difficult these days. She continued down the streets until she turned to a dark alley. Sherlock stopped then and took out a cigarette and a lighter. The only thing to calm herself down. She lit it and took a few drags; her eyes fluttering while doing so.  
Relief.  
She stayed there for a bit, savoring the sensation and warmth that flooded through her body.  
"Hello."  
She whipped around and saw a twenty year old man with ginger hair step towards her. "Watcha doin here all by yourself? You are far to pretty to be by yourself."  
Sherlock rolled her eyes with a bored expression on her face. What an idiot.  
"You look like you can-"  
Before he could finish, she punched him across the jaw.  
Hard.  
The man stepped back with a pained look on his face. "What the hell?!"  
With that, Sherlock finished off her new friend with a kick to the side of the neck; instantly knocking him out.  
Once that was out of the way, she straightened her clothes, stomped on her cigarette, and walked off. She has been in situations like this before.  
You learn a few things when being alone.  
Alone is what protects her.

But then again you are alone..


	2. Mr John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a look at the life of Mr John Watson 
> 
> Oooh! Exciting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I actually already wrote this but then I did not save it -_- I know right 
> 
> But hey here it is!   
> Enjoy! <3

"John? John!"

John Waston quickly turned his head to his sister in reflex. "What? What is it?"

Harry Watson sighed deeply and replied, "You are not listening, are you?" She slumped down into her chair and brushed her ginger bangs out of her eyes. 

John replied with a low grunt and silently observed his younger sister. 

Harry was nothing of the ordinary. She was a subtle 5"3 and had long ginger hair that was pulled back into a messy pony tail. Harry was in her mid twenties but did not seem to age at all. Her fashion sense reflected her "go 

with the flow" motto: a pink and red flannel with torn up skinny jeans with combat boots. 

 

Whenever John looked at his sister, he feels a certain ping of pain. Before their parents had died in a car crash, he was always told to look after his younger sister; to make sure she stayed out of trouble.

But here she was, an alcoholic and about to leave on a four month trip to Australia tomorrow.

'John Watson, everyone, brother of the year' he grimly thought to himself.

Harry slipped out of her chair and walked over to John sitting in her kitchen. She knelt down and made him look at her.

"John, I understand that you hate me right now. I understand that you think me leaving Clara was a bad thing; but there's nothing we can do about it. I need to go to Australia; I need to clear my mind of London and think 

about my future. Hell, you just got retired and now you think it's your duty to come and protect me from the world and arrange my dates now, huh?"

 

John closed his eyes and spoke back, "Harry, I retired because I needed to look after you an-"

"That's a load of bull and you know it, John!" she suddenly cried out, "You were forced to leave because you got shot; do not pull any crap like that on me. If you were able to go back you would."

John shifted his eyes away from her gaze and bent his head down even lower. He hated how the two of them knew each other so well. 

Harry calmed herself down and resumed, "John, it's not like I am never coming back", she said softly now, "I will be back in four months."

"Hopefully sober." John murmured.

Harry chuckled slightly at this; making her eyes gleam with light.

"I am leaving tomorrow, John. This is your last chance to come with me."

John turned back to his sister and calmly said, "I....I don't think I want to leave London that quick after just coming back."

Harry smiled at him and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. 

John looked at his watched and said, "I am late for my therapy meeting."

Harry sighed softly again and allowed her brother to get up from his chair. After that, he quickly pulled her into a tight hug. He quietly whispered to her ear, "Just...stay safe."

"Always", she whispered back.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"How's the blog coming around?" asked his therapist for what seems like the hundredth time. Why was she so keen on this bloody blog?

"Fine, thanks"

"You haven't written a word, have you?" she replied with a small knowing smile.

'Damn' he thought to himself and stretched out his legs. "Well you know, nothing really blog worthy happens to me."

His therapist, Makenna (she suggested being on a first-name relationship), replied back softly, "John, there are not that many people out there that survive a bullet wound. On those people, not many people can fully recover 

from the shot emotionally.....oh and physically." she said adding that last part in, as if she forgot. "However, it can be done. I really believe this blog can help setting aside all your personal internal conflicts that are blocking 

your way to relief and recovery."

John felt a little awkward at this comment and replied, "I seem pretty happy right now and I really don't think a blog will help me at all."

John saw Makenna write some notes down on her clipboard. 

"And you just wrote still has trust issues." John smirked grimly.

"And you are reading my handwriting upside down, need I go on?"

John dropped his smile and look out the window letting silence fall between them.

"I can't keep up with a blog, Makenna."

"Why not?"

"Nothing ever happens to me."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

After therapy, John wandered back to his small, one bedroom apartment. He hated being on an army pension because it made living anywhere impossible for you could only afford what's cheap. He had to take a fifteen minute taxi ride just to get to downtown London. 

When he got back "home", he sat on his twin sized bed and just thought to himself.

First he lost his parents and now he is losing Harry. Is this really all his life is coming onto? Loneliness? Being by yourself?

He fell back on his bed and closed his eyes; tossing his cane to the side. His damn leg is going to drag him down for the rest of his life.

Not today.

John quickly got up and grabbed his cane. He put his coat back on and walked out the door; shutting it firmly. Walking will clear his head and possibly give him something to write about in his blog.

Taking life in a new perspective.

He chuckled to himself at the thought. Hell, he was really losing it.

As he walked down the streets, he contemplated on what Harry must be doing right now. 

Sitting on a plane, possibly talking to some cute guys sitting next to her or writing poetry in her journal or even ordering a few shots from the flight attendants.

John chuckled and shook his head to himself, as reckless as his sister was, she always managed to make the best out of anything. 

Maybe that's what he's missing in his life; a little bit of danger or adventure. Sure, he got all of it when he was back fighting military in Afghanistan, but that was the old John.

The new John would have to make his own trouble. 

 

...It's hard to do it when you are alone, though.


	3. Coffee and Riding Crops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a step closer on meeting Sherlock which should be fun XD  
> Man is he in for some trouble!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I decided to give this fan fic another chance. I was originally gonna stop because I though no one would ever read it, but when I saw comments asking me to continue, I almost cried :D 
> 
> So yes I'm back and as lively as ever!  
> Never fear, your pearlqueen is here  
> (oh god that was so bad *smacks forehead*)
> 
> I am re-doing this chapter and I ended up deleting the other on because that was a mistake XD  
> So enjoy!

John decided to walk through a park close to where he lived. 

'So this is what normal is like?' he thought to himself while grimily smiling. 

John was not used to this sort of peaceful setting.  
The sun was bright and shining with a slight cool breeze from the distance. There were birds chirping and squirrels running nearby. Couples on a bench were sharing a kiss while a group of toddlers ran past him playing tag. Most people would be at ease with such a setting, especially since the day was just starting.

John was not most people.

He huffed to himself as he walked and tried desperately to think of something to do that did not make him go mad with boredom. This god damn leg prevented him from doing anything thrilling.  
After about twenty minutes of strolling and getting no where, he hears a familiar voice calling his name from behind.  
'Huh?' he thinks to himself as he turns around to find a bulgy middle aged man running up to him with a goofy grin.

"John! John Watson!" the mysterious man cried out when he finally caught of to him. 

"Sorry do I..er.. know you?" John asked.

"It's me, Mike Stanford! Remember? We used to study together at Bart's?'  
John immediately remembered his old acquaintance and greeted him with a smile, "Ah yes I remember you indeed!"  
"I know, I know, I got fat" Mike chuckled, soon followed by John. 

Mike continued on, "It's been so long! The last I heard of you was that you were getting shot at in Afghanistan! What happened?"  
"Got shot" John said lamely nudging his leg.  
"Oh.."

Twenty minutes later both men found themselves sitting on a park bench drinking coffee.

Awkwardly.

"So how's Harry been?" asked Mike breaking the ice.

"Oh she's been good. Actually she just left for Australia to do some business and some school."

"She sober?"

"Nooope"  
Mike laughed heartedly and John the same.

"So you live here in the heart of the city, then?"

"Oh no, you know I can't afford that on an army pension."

"Oh like you could live any other place."

John smiled a little. took a sip of coffee and replied, "Yeah, you're right, but I only live the suburbs of London. And if you ask me, it's a load of rubbish out here." 

"Well have you though of any other options?"

"Like what?", John asked curiously.

"Um, I don't know, you could get a flat share or something?"

John smirked at this and said "Yeah, no not going to happen."

"Well why not?"

"Who would want me as a flat mate?" 

Mike shook his head and began to laugh. 

"What's so funny?"

"Hahaha, that's the second time someone said that to me today!"  
"Who's the first?"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Molly Hooper was never the woman who had a ton of friends; more or less relationships.  
So the first time she met Sherlock Holmes, she was determined to become friends with her.  
That was until she actually got to know her.

 

That day at around noon, the bold woman came into the morgue and swiftly took off her coat and gloves. She ruffled her long black curls and walked up to the stunned Molly and said in one dead voice "I need to see a body."

Molly squeaked softly at the request but then tried to put on a brave face, "Um, whose body may I ask?"  
"The man that used to work here, the annoying one. I must have deleted his name and face from our first encounter; it was not really valuable information at the time. But now that he is dead, he may prove to be at least a five and a half if I'm lucky. So I ask again, show me the body." Sherlock replied with a bored voice while looking at her finger nails. Why did Molly take so long to comprehend her questions?

Molly frowned a bit at her answer and said "Well, I am really not allowed to show any non staff members the bodies with out proper permission...so..."

Sherlock soon interrupted her with a flashy smile, "Oh, Molly! I did not even notice you're new hair-do! It simply looks lovely and stunning! How about we go out Thursday night for some drinks, eh?"  
'Ahh, yes, paying her in small complements and chances to go out. That's what will get her to cooperate' Sherlock though coldly. Molly was so naïve at times like these.  
Molly smiled warmly back and in no less than ten minutes, Sherlock was zipping open the body bag and peering into its contents.

"He was actually a good lad, you know." Molly said with a soft smile, "He was really nice to me."

"I do not know if you should be flattered, Molly" Sherlock said rolling her sky blue eyes, "his thighs tell me otherwise."

Sherlock sighed to herself, when was poor Molly going to admit to herself that she was lesbian? It was so obvious at this point.  
That's why all her past boyfriends did not work.

Molly blushed a deep red and quickly changed the subject, "So what do you need the body for exactly?"

"Just to calculate how fast bruises will form upon his skin. The cause of this man's death was apparently strangling from his cousin, but the marks seem fresh to the blind eye, but I suspect otherwise."  
Molly moved closer to the body to see a line of bruises along the neck and around the abdomen. The bruises did look fresh but when she took a closer look down, not all of them appeared to be. She frowned at this.  
"Who exactly did the autopsy for this body?" Sherlock asked searching for something in the nearby lockers.  
"A-a-an intern I think." Molly said shyly. 

Sherlock knew this was true, Molly was not that oblivious to miss something like that.  
"Well, then I need to calculate how fast bruises on this body will form so,

Let's start with the riding crop?"


	4. Who Said Anything About Flatmates?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! They finally meet up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the laggy updates, my schedule is whack but like I'm here now XD
> 
> Oh and for this chapter I am going have to keep it close to the script (even though I hate doing that) but it is still wonderful!
> 
> Enjoy!

Molly stood back in amazement as she took in the sight in front of her. 

Sherlock stood there with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and hair up in a high loose pony tail. She was violently lashing at the body with the riding crop with no mercy. If Molly did not know any better, she would have thought Sherlock was enjoying herself with beating the body with such ferocity. 

Molly smiled to herself and thought how darkly elegant Sherlock looked with her every movement. She sighed happily but then abruptly caught herself. What was she doing?!

Sherlock finally finished and stepped back to examine her work; yes this would do for now. She put down the crop and wiped her brow in satisfaction; she of course noticed Molly in the background who was indeed watching her like a puppy.  
'She is actually drooling' Sherlock thought rolling her eyes and stood up. 

"Bad day was it?" Molly approached her smiling sheepishly.

"I need to know how to bruises form, text me once they do so." Sherlock said grabbing her coat and gloves to take upstairs to do other work. 

"Listen, Sherlock. I was er, actually wondering if you wanted to get coffee wi-"

Sherlock briskly interrupted her, "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before?"

"Oh, well I refreshed it a bit."

Sherlock gave her a weird look and continued gathering her things.

"Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to have coffee?"

"Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs." With that, Sherlock left the room to go upstairs. When she got to the lab, she shut the door and leaned back against it and sighed.

'The days are getting longer' she thought grimly to herself as she closed her eyes. Her mind buzzed intensely without ease, wanting, no, demanding something to relief her of this boredom. Something that was worthy of her intelligence. She turned down to looked her black riding boots that she had on.  
She hesitantly slipped her hand into it and pulled out a cigarette; the third one of the day. Just as she was about to grab her lighter, her phone beeped with a text. Groaning, she took out her phone from her pocket and read the message

_My, my, dear sister. Third one of the day already? -MH_

Sherlock snarled at the message and looked up from her phone. She lifted her leg and put the cigarette back into her boot. She then went next to the window, opened it, and chucked her phone out watching as it hit the three story ground with a thud. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mike led the hesitant John up the stairs that led to the Lab. They were both at Bart's since Mike had said "there is a perfect potential flatmate for John and it would be a crime to see him".

John huffed to himself and trudged up the steps with his cane clanking about. 

"I can't wait for you to meet the bloke. But do be prepared." Mike called out behind him as he walked up the steps.

"Be prepared for exactly what?" John replied.

Mike just shook his head and chuckled silently; if he only knew.

Finally they reached the top and opened the door that led to their destination. 

Only later did John realize that his whole world was to change.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Once John was inside, he took in his surroundings of the place. The Lab looked different then he last remembered it. Gone were the ancient computers and dusty test tubes that had been there before as it was now replaced with modern technology. "Jeez, it looks so different." he muttered to himself. How much has changed since his time at Bart's.  
It was about a minute later did John notice a tall women near the end of the room who was fiddling with a microscope. She was strikingly beautiful with pale skin and her long soft curled jet black hair brushed back into a pony tail. Her cheeks held a bit of color as if she had just completed a labor some task. The women looked up from the scope and saw them both approaching her, at last she spoke.

"Mike, may I use your phone?" and then looked back into the microscope..

"May I ask what's wrong with yours?".

"I seemed to have. er. misplaced it.".

"And the landline?".

"Won't work for me; I prefer to text.".

"Sorry, left mine in my jacket.".

John saw this a window of opportunity and decided to take it. "You can use mine." he said to the strange women..

"Oh. Thanks" she replied taking to phone. She lifted the screen and started typing away on the keyboard..

"This is an old colleague of mine, Dr John Watson." Mike said to Sherlock with a small smile. He knew what was coming..

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" she asked the army doctor..

John had no time to process the question. How the hell did she know?.

John replied, "..Afganistan..? But how did you?".

Sherlock shut the phone with a satisfying snap and returned it to the owner. .

Just then a short, women in her late twenties walked into the room with a mug of coffee..

"Ah! Molly, thank you." Sherlock said taking the mug, "What happened to the lipstick?".

"Oh, er, it wasn't working for me.".

"I thought it was a big improvement, your mouth too small now" she said waving her nails in the air. .

"Ok.." with that Molly left the room with a sad expression. .

John saw the whole thing in awe and stared at Sherlock.. 

"How do you feel about the violin?".

"I'm sorry?" John said with a hint of frustration..

"I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days end. Would that bother you? I mean potential flatmates should know the worst about each other, you know.".

"Who said anything about flatmates..?".

"I did; I have a my eye on a good spot downtown London. I say we meet up there in an hour yes?" Sherlock said grabbing her coat and scarf from the rack starting to put them on. .

"Well that's it then?"

Sherlock pulled her hair out from her pony tail and ruffled it, "Problem?"

John looked around looking annoyed until finally saying, "I don't know a thing about you. I don't even know your name or where we are meeting up. We hardly even know a thing about each other."

Sherlock narrowed her eyes as if she was accepting the challenge and replied in a monotone voice,

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. And it looks like you carry around a cane to actually convince yourself," she paused smiling faintly. 

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" with that Sherlock tied her scarf around her neck and left the door. After a second she popped her head back into the door and said 

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." and then she winked (yes winked) at him.

"Yep she's always like that I'm afraid." Mike said to John.  
John stared dumbly at the door and then at Mike.

What had just happened?


	5. Beatles and Google

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John looks into Sherlock  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe hello there, I am so sorry for like not being there to write and I am super sorry about this super short chapter, I am still kind of getting the story into the groove of things, but the next one will be my longest one yet.
> 
> Please remember this is my first fan fic so be nice :)
> 
> OH MY GOSH if you are into the Jimmy Neutron fandom, there was this one great fanfic called   
> The Other Side of Tomorrow by Mara S.
> 
> And its sooooo good like erm me gurd..
> 
> Anyway,   
> Let's go!

John groaned as he sat down lay down on his bed with his eyes closed. 

His former job

His sister's drinking

The _bloody_ leg!

He opened his eyes with a start and looked down at it and sighed before closing them again.

As much as he wanted to hate this woman and never think warmly of her, he simply could not do it. It killed him not to hate her for intruding on his personal life and tearing him apart in front of Stanford and herself. But the truth is, John was anything but mad

He was impressed. 

It tore him apart to be feeling so amazed at this woman's talents, but in all honesty, it was bloody brilliant.

John lifted himself off of his bed and went down and suddenly his phone beeped with an incoming text message. John pulled out the device from his pocket and saw the message that displayed on the screen

_Plane delayed for another hour! Call you when I can! -Harry_

Before putting his phone away, John remembered that Sherlock had used his phone to send a text herself. He contemplated on whether or not he should check the message or not but ended up giving in. After all, it was his phone.

Going back to his sent messages, Sherlock's text was the first to appear on screen.

_If the cousin owns Beatles album, bring him in for questioning. -SH_

John frowned as he put away his cell phone. Why would she need to send a weird message like that..?  
Unless..  
John turned to his desk and booted up his laptop at lightening speed. He got to Google and typed in

Sherlock Holmes

Many newspapers and documents came up in the search engine, only mentioning her name somewhere in the middle of the paragraph. What he did see was Scott Lard's name mentioned many times within the paper; along with the name of Greg Lestrade.

John frowned a bit to himself. What was a woman like her getting herself tied into with the police?

Traveling down the search engine, he saw one link that caught his eye.

_The Science of Deduction_

Intrigued, John clicked on the link and was automatically brought up to a website of a dark black background and Times New Roman font. Below the title of the page was the little inscription: _-Sherlock Holmes_

'Oh so this is her website' John thought to himself as he scrolled through the articles posted up. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly seven. 

He sighed to himself and returned back to his laptop.

'Let's get started then.'

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sherlock sat in the cab and looked out the window as she rode down central London. She placed both hands into a praying position under her chin and looked up to the sky. These days, she is rarely surprised at anything. Even the occasional seven was not enough to shock her; at most it made her grin like a child. Yet, when she met that old Watson fellow, her mind has not stopped buzzing about him in curiosity. 

The most infuriating part was that she did not know why she was doing that.

Sure, she has met many people in the past through her family and work like important business men, politicians, and even royalty. All of them had either hit on her or drank too much and tumbled over themselves. One time, one had even gone far enough to try and touch her. 

Sherlock growled internally at the thought and automatically sighed after that. It is going to be quite a meeting.  
The cabbie stopped just outside of a little restaurant and Sherlock got out and paid the driver his sum. As he drove away she went inside the place and automatically saw the person she dreaded most sitting in the back of the shop with one hand carrying a book and the other twirling an umbrella.

Her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen next mwhahhhahhaha


	6. New and Old Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson takes a look at the flat as well as his new fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this is awkward xD   
> buuut yeaaah here is another chapter that is waaaay overdue!
> 
> Enjoy!

“What do you want, Mycroft?”

It was more of a statement rather than a question. 

The tall, brown haired woman smiled a cold smile at her sister. She had her hair up into a professional up do, with strands of silver peeking out. Mycroft wore a white blouse with a black blazer and a pencil skirt below.   
To any person, she would have looked like a normal middle aged woman.

But to Sherlock, she was a serpent.

Scales and all.

“Oh, dear sister. What a surprise to find you here.” Mycroft said to her sister with dry amusement as she stirred the cup of tea in front of her. In a casual sandwich place like this, she did look really out of place. “I suppose that ever since you left home, you have been a little busy one, have you not?”

Sherlock growled, “You mean ever since I left rehab?”

Mycroft waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss the comment. “I have been keeping a close eye on you little sister.”

“Like I haven't noticed.” Sherlock said dryly, rolling her eyes. Looking around at the food placed around her sister she laughed and added, “What no cake? Pity. We both know how much you like desserts so much.”

Giving a sour look at her sister and ignoring the previous comment, Mycroft asked, “Was the house I supplied for you not to your liking? I can honestly say that I am hurt by your harsh standards.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Mycroft. I was getting tired of taking down your cameras and microphones. I needed to get a place in order to, what do people call it, get their appalling family members out of their life.”

Mycroft had merely raised her eyebrows at the acidity of Sherlock’s tone. “No need to be so sour, you know how it upset Mummy. Besides without me around to guide you, it is only a matter of time that old habits start to kick in. You were lucky the first time, perhaps now fate will not be as forgiving as me.”

Sherlock stood from her seat and made the motive to leave, “I do believe that we are done here. You are not there to be the one to watch over me, Mycroft. I can take care of myself, I am not the child that I once was.”

Mycroft calm face turned sour as she rose as well, “Were you able to take care of yourself when you were found unconscious in Austria? Or how about the time that you almost got killed by those Americans back in Germany? If that is how you take care of yourself, then you are doing a foul job.”

“Oh just go help the queen.” Sherlock snarled and left her older sister by herself at the table. 

When she was out of sight, Mycroft’s face softened and leaned back in her chair. 

She sighed heavily.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

What am I getting myself into?

John sat crossed-legged on the ride to the flat. On the outside he looked composed and swell. 

But on the outside he was utterly confused and worried out of his mind. 

He thought that by researching Sherlock, he would get a better grasp at what he was facing. But all it did was leave him more confused than ever. After stumbling upon her website and seeing her name is several newspaper articles, it was clear that she was somehow affiliated with Scotland Yard; but it only did not really explain why she was helping them out. When she did appear in the newspaper, it was always just randomly thrown in their as a source, like she did not want to get too much recognition.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, John looked out of the cab window to see it slowly start to sprinkle. He was not fooled; he knew it was going to really pour in the next hour or so. The streets would be filled with people carrying umbrellas and wearing rain boots. This was what he was sure of.

He sighed. And he thought that he knew London pretty well until yesterday.

The cabbie slowed down to a stop right in front of an apartment labeled 221B and right next door appeared to contain a deli shop. When he first looked at the apartment from the outside, John was shocked to see that they were in the heart of the city itself. This apartment must cost a fortune!

John slowly stepped out of the car; taking his time with his cane and leg. Sherlock walked out of the sandwich shop next door with a sour look on her face as her hair tousled around with every step. 

When she saw John approaching, she wiped her face from any emotion; giving an expressionless front for the doctor. With the click of her boots, she went to the cab and paid for the fare as well as shook hands with John. 

“Ah. Ms. Holmes.”

“Please, call me Sherlock,” she replied with a slight half smile on her lips. 

John looked up at the apartment once again and said, “Pretty prime location, must be a bit expensive.”

As the two walked to the front door, Sherlock replied, “Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she’s giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out a bit.”

John raised an eyebrow, “You were able to stop her husband from being executed..?”

Knocking on the door, Sherlock turned around and grinned wickedly, “Oh no. I ensured it.”

Bloody hell.

The front door opened to show a rather short and elderly woman open her arms out to hug Sherlock warmly. After pulling away, Sherlock cleared her throat and said to her, “Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson.”

Mrs. Hudson had on an old floral dress, short brown hair, and an apron to top everything off. She had a wise and happy look on her face that made John feel like he had already known her for ages. She smiled politely and shook his hand, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Watson.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

The three went on up the stairs to see the flat that awaited. When they reached the top, John got a good look around. The wallpaper was a bit odd, but it made it seem that without it, the flat would look incomplete. There were boxes of junk littered around the place and random pieces of furniture that was sort of mismatched together. The view from the window was pleasant as it looked down upon the main streets of downtown London itself. 

For such a high end spot, the past owners sure left a lot of shite behind for us to deal with.

After looking around a bit, John cleared up his throat and spoke up, “Well, I do think that this place could be very nice.”  
Sherlock, taking off her gloves and throwing them on the nearby table, scratched the crown of her hair and replied, “Yes my thoughts precisely.  
“That’s why I have already started to move in.”  
“As soon as we get all this rubbish cleared up.”  
John raised his eyebrow and looked a bit embarrassed, “Oh.”   
“Well, uh, I guess I can straighten things up a bit,” Sherlock replied half-heartedly as she pushes some papers together before viciously stabbing them with a pocket knife. John looks on the mantle where he sees a skull, yes a real skull, sitting there as if it owned the entire place.   
Pointing with his cane, John asked, “Is that a skull?”  
Waving her hand in the air, “Just an old friend.”  
Wanting to ask a bit more, John was interrupted when Mrs. Hudson came bouncing into the living room wiping her hands on a tea towel and asking, “So what do you think of the flat Mr. Watson? Oh and there are two bedrooms available here; well, in case you will be needing two bedrooms that is,” she added with a devious wink.  
John looked at her in utter shock and embarrassment.  
What was with the winking between these people?!  
“Why on earth would we need only one room?!”  
“Oh, John, look at you! Pretending that Sherlock is not a pretty bird. But if you are not into that,” she suddenly dropped her voice down into a whisper as she walked into the kitchen, “Mr. Turner has a pretty son next door who would love to meet you.”  
John merely looked at Sherlock in embarrassment, but it seemed that she was completely oblivious to what was going on as she was rummaging through some of her stuff that was piled around.   
Huffing to himself, John plumped up the cushion on one of the armchairs and sat down with his cane resting in between his legs. He looked thoughtfully at the woman standing before him as she opened some more boxes around her. He spoke up, “So I looked you up last night.”  
Sherlock raised her eyebrow in interest and stopped what she was doing to look at him, “Find anything you like?”  
“The Science of Deduction?”  
“Hmm. And?” she questioned with a smirk.  
John gave her sort of a sideways to which wiped the smile off her face.   
“You said that you were able to figure out a chef by his right leg and a florist by what kind of bread they buy?”  
“Yep.” Sherlock replied back, accentuating the last sound of the letter, “And I can also rad your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in your mobile phone.”  
Damn.  
“How?”  
Instead on replying, Sherlock just pursed her lips and continued rifling through the rubbish that was laying around.   
Mrs. Hudson came back in from the kitchen holding up a newspaper and asked, “Sherlock, have you seen these three suicide cases, yet? It is such awful business, it is. Three of them being exactly the same and all. Though it would be just your cup of tea.”  
Walking to the window, Sherlock draws the curtain a bit and murmurs, “Four.”  
John looked at her curiously as he heard some footsteps approaching the flat from the stairs. Did he just hear a police siren go off?  
Turning to the front door, Sherlock spoke a bit louder, “There has been a fourth. Somethings different about this one.”  
Suddenly the door busted open and there stood a man around the age of his mid-forties with more grey hair than black looking straight at Sherlock.  
She merely flipped her hair as if she was expecting this, “Where?”  
The mystery man (well mystery at least to John) helplessly replied back, “Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.”  
“What’s new about this one? You would not have come to me if there was not anything new.”  
“Well, you know how they do not leave notes? This one did.”  
“And who is one forensics?”  
“Anderson.”  
Sherlock rolled her eyes and replied, “You have got to be kidding me, Lestrade.”  
The man-as John guessed to call him Lestrade-replied, “It is not like he is going to be your assistant or anything.”  
“That does not mean that I do not need one.”  
“Look are you coming or not?”  
“Not in your cop car, I’ll meet you there.”  
Giving her one last look, Lestrade exited the room by shutting the door firmly. Everyone was silent for a moment as Sherlock looked around for a bit.  
Grinning like a girl getting a new doll on her birthday, Sherlock jumped into the air and clenched her hands with success.   
“Brilliant! Four killings and now one of them is interesting enough to leave a note? Oh yes! It is Christmas!” she cried out as she twirled around the room in happiness.  
John merely sat there with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth hanging open. A part of him knew that this was kind of sick for someone to get overjoyed over four suicide killings, but the other part was getting some other sort of reaction.   
Clicking things together, John must have figured that the Lestrade was the same bloke who Sherlock texted earlier using his phone. Which meant that he was also head of Scotland Yard.  
Scotland bloody Yard.  
Grabbing her blue scarf from one of the discarded boxes, Sherlock said, “Mrs. Hudson! I am going to be out late! Please leave some food.”  
Mrs. Hudson called out, “I am your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.”  
“Something cold will do.”   
Turning her attention back to an awestruck John who was still on the armchair, she said, “Make yourself at home John and have a cup out tea. Do not wait up!” With that she disappeared from view into the other room.   
John did not really know how to feel at that moment. He knew that he should be sitting and resting his leg here in the comfort of his new flat; but was what Sherlock said yesterday true?  
Was it just psychological?  
Mrs. Hudson came next to John and shook her head disapprovingly, “My husband was exactly the same, coming in and out when he pleased.” She looked down at John fondly, “But you are not like that, dear. You are more of the settled down type, hm? Here let me get you a cuppa, you just rest your leg.”  
Unreserved anger brew up into him all of a sudden. It was coming so fast that he had no time to bark it back down.  
“Damn my leg!” he yelled out and immediately apologized half-heartily.  
Mrs. Hudson looked amused and replied before heading back into the kitchen, “It’s okay, dear, I understand. I got a hip.”   
Grabbing the newspaper that she left behind earlier, John skimmed through the article discussing the suicides. Sure enough, there held a picture of Greg Lestrade of the man who was just previously in their flat. Squinting down and bringing up the paper closer to his face, John tried to read the statement that was made earlier.   
“There is no doubt that these are all suicides. All of them. The best wa-  
“You’re a doctor. An army doctor in fact.”  
John’s thoughts were immediately interrupted at the sound of his new roommate’s voice filling the air. He looked up to see her putting her gloves back on and straightening her coat.   
John got up from where he was sitting to approach her.   
“Yes.”  
Pursing her lips again, she asked, “Hm. Any good?”  
“Very good.”  
Raising an eyebrow, she stepped closer to the man to reveal that they were pretty much the same height if not Sherlock being an inch taller. She asked in a low voice and taunting voice, “Seen a lot of injuries then; violent deaths?”  
Taking the bait, John stood his ground and replied emotionlessly, “Of course, yes. Far too much. Enough for a lifetime.”  
She stepped even closer to him so that their faces were right in front of each other.   
“Wanna see some more?”  
John could see a fire rise in her dark eyes that was so alarming yet luring at the same time. She possessed this charm that he could not help but get drawn into. Sherlock held his gaze as if she could read his whole mind like a book; she had enough confidence to be the writer of his fate. This was everything that he was trying to suppress for the past few months during his retirement. For the sake of himself and for Harry. The thrill of the chase, the rush of the unknowing. He knew that this was all bad news that would just end up crashing and burning right in his face. Looking down at his leg, he finally understood what the other part of him felt about this whole situation. 

Excitement.

“Oh God yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your comments!


	7. Implying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got any ice?  
> Someone gets roasted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters and they are not months apart?  
> I guess the summer sun in affecting my brain.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Sherlock’s mind was buzzing with excitement and curiosity. It has been ages since she was able to get a case this worthy into her clutches. She sat up in the cab seat as she rapidly looked through her phone for some more research about the killings; processing the information in her mind in order to find a connection. Everything was happening so fast and her heart was literally explod-

Wait. She just remembered something.

She looked to the man that was sitting next to her with his eyes squinted as If he was trying to figure something out.  
She half-smiled to herself. This John Waston fellow was certainly intriguing. Not only did he take up on her offer for the flat, but he did it even after she completely deduced him mercilessly. Most people would have slowly backed away from her the minute she opened her mouth, but there was something that made him stay until the end. There was no doubt that she pissed him off, but Sherlock was sure that he was mostly lured into the unexpected. It surely was just the thrill of the chase.  
Just the thrill. 

Sherlock shut off her phone and made her presence available to the man. She spoke out smugly, “Okay, you have questions.”

John looked at her startled before coughing and replying, “Um yeah where exactly are we going?”

“Crime scene,” she bluntly stated as she nonchalantly looked at her nails, “next.”

“What do you do?” John asked almost in a whisper as if were afraid of what she would say. 

Smirking, she asked back, “What do you think it is that I do?”

John furrowed his brow as if trying to choose his words carefully before speaking, “I would want to say a private detective…..but the police do not go to private detectives.”

Smirking, Sherlock proudly replied, “I am a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job myself.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“When the police are out of their depth, which is always,” she paused to roll her eyes, “they come to me like little birds waiting for their mother to feed them.”

“So you enjoy this then?”

Sherlock frowned a bit before replying. There was nothing that she would rather do more than solve the unsolvable cases that have the best of Scotland Yard scratching their heads in confusion. But other times, when it seemed like the city was at peace and people were actually decent, she had nothing to do but run her own experiments and try not to get in trouble with her sister. The whole thing was a tad bittersweet with the countless boring days colliding with the rare eights.

“Sometimes it can be boring, however there are rare moments when I find myself a little more than happy.”

“Like today?”

“Especially today.” She affirmed.

“But I still don’t get it. The police do not just go and consult amateurs.”

Amateurs? Please.

“When I first met you I asked you “Afghanistan of Iraq?” You looked surprised.”

His face growing a little embarrassed, John inquired seriously, “Yes, how did you know?”

Placing her hands in a praying position under her chin and replying almost as if she was giving him a lecture, “I didn’t know. I deduced. Your haircut, the way that you hold yourself, it screams military. But your conversation as you entered the room you mentioned that the lab looked much different in your day. This could only mean that you were obviously a doctor. Army doctor. Your face is tanned but there is no indication of a tan above the wrists, meaning that you have been abroad, but oh no not sunbathing.” She raised an eyebrow. 

God did she enjoy this.

“Your limp is really bad when you walk but you do not ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury must have been quite traumatic. Wounded in action, suntan – therefore I asked you: Afghanistan or Iraq” she finished her speech with a little emphasis on the ‘k’ sound of Iraq.

Not totally looking satisfied, John challenged even more, “You said I have a therapist.”

“You’ve got a psychosomatic limp – of course there is a therapist thrown in there. Oh but then there’s your brother.”

John cocked an eyebrow of his own and replied, “Hmm?”

Using her hands to emphasize her point, Sherlock explained even further, “Your phone. It’s expensive, email enables, MP3 player, but you’re looking for a flat share – hence there would be no way you would splurge on something like this. It’s a gift, then.”

John hands her the phone so that Sherlock can make her point clearer. She smirked internally when he did this. Fast learner.

“Scratches. Not one, but many along the sides; meaning it has been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me would not treat his one luxury item like this, so it had to be a gift. The previous owner is pretty easy to figure out – as I am sure that you have already done so.”  
Flipping the phone over, Sherlock revealed the engraving that was printed on the back for both of them to see. 

Harry Watson  
From Clara  
Xxx

“Harry Waston: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, no,” she said giving the phone a little flip in the air and catching it firmly, “this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you are a war hero who cannot find a place to live. There is a very small chance that you’ve got some extended family hanging around, so it must definitely be your brother. Now Clara. Who is this Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment and the expense shows it to be a wife not really a girlfriend. I mean it could be a girlfriend, but I hardly doubt you’re into the clingy type. She must have given it to your brother recently – this model is only six months old. Now there must have been a bit of marriage trouble for the two. If she had left him, then he would have kept it for sentimental reasons.” Sherlock spat out. “No he wanted rid of the phone, he left her. He gave it to you as result as in a way to keep in touch. But now here you are looking for cheap accommodation but not going for your brother to help even though he’s got plenty of wealth. That says you have got problems with him. Maybe you like his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking.”

John sighed out a sign of defeat before asking his final question, “How can you possibly know about the drinking?”

Breaking her serious tone for a quick childish smile, Sherlock carried on with, “Bit of a shock in the dark really. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night when he goes to charge his phone but his hands are shaking and result in this. You never see these on a sober man’s and you never will see a drunk without them. Here.” Sherlock tossed the phone back to her travel companion before finally finishing off by saying, “There you go, you see – you were right.”

“I was right? About what?”

Looking out of the window where the streets seemed like endless concrete lines before coldly replying, “The police don’t consult amateurs.”

There was a short, but painful silence that filled the cab after the entire scene. Sherlock closed her eyes for she knew too well what was about to come next. The anger, the name-calling, the accusation. She’s heard them all at this point and honestly would not be surprised if John had told the driver to stop the car so he could leave. She finally heard a little cough next to her that questioned every first impression she made up to that point.

“That…was amazing.”

Huh?

Sherlock looked at him in bewilderment before finally getting the courage to compose herself and reply, “Do you think so?”

“Of course it was,” John replied bringing his hands together in his lab while fiddling with his cane, “it was bloody brilliant.”

Composing herself to let nothing slip, Sherlock calmly answered back, “That’s not what most people say.”

“And what do most people say?”

Sherlock replied with a smile, “’Bitch!’” 

John slowly cracks to a smile and shakes his head as he looks outside for the rest of the journey. Sherlock could not help but steal a couple glances at the now silent man next to her. 

Maybe she was not good at deductions as she thought she was.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
“Did I get anything wrong, by the way?” Sherlock asked as she opened the door wider for John to get through with his cane. The two had finally arrived in Brixton where they stood before a house covered in police tape and siren lights.

Pulling himself through the car, John bluntly replied, “Harry and I have never exactly seen eye to eye on everything. Harry and Clara did split up three months ago and Harry is quite a drinker when the desire strikes. Which is pretty often.”

Sherlock was shocked. “Well, I guess I was spot on then.”

The two were walking towards the giant house that seemed to be swarming with police and press who were eager to get the news on what was happening.

Sherlock’s ego was slightly bruised when John said, “Harry is short for Harriet.”

Stopping in her tracks, Sherlock growled and hit her head with the palm of her head in frustration. “She’s your sister!”

John, being completely oblivious to what the pale woman was talking about just asked, “So um what exactly am I here for again?”

Shaking herself from the mistake, Sherlock muttered, “It’s always something.” Even though her observations could impress the normal fellow, she always cursed herself when there was always something she missed. It was a pleasant feeling for her to loose vital information like that with just a basic assumption. She needed to be better than that.  
Walking down the crime scene with a profound determination, Sherlock let the heels of her boots carry her to the house with John following cautiously behind. If things had not been bad enough all of a sudden Donovan thought it was a great time to stop her for a chat.

Swell.

“Hello, freak.” the African American woman said smugly to Sherlock. Even though Donovan was Lestrade’s partner, it does not mean that she was anywhere as appreciated to Sherlock as was he. Ever since Sherlock first started working with the police, Donovan had always been there to try and see that she was not involved. Sherlock thinks that the whole things might have started because she may have called her previous boyfriend gay. Does not matter, the information was deleted long ago.

“I am here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Why?”

“I was invited.”

“Why?”

Sherlock rolled her eyes. She really did not have time to deal with her right now. “To take a look, I suppose.”

Raising an eyebrow, Donovan took no mercy into spitting out, “Well, you already know what I think of that.”

“Always.” Sherlock could have left it there, but she smelled something on Donovan that was too good to let slide.

“Oh and I even know that you did not make it home last night.”

Getting a bit panicked, Donovan shakily replied, “I don’t..wait a minute who is this bloke here?” she said referring to John who was still just confused at the sight and interaction.

Turning her head to nod at him, “This is a college of mine, John Watson. John this is Sally Donovan, an old friend.” Her voice leaving an acidic tone in the air. 

“How does the freak Sherlock Holmes get a boyfriend?” she said turning to John, “What did she follow you home?”

Blushing like mad, John started to say, “Should I just wai-“

Sherlock waved her hand in the air like it was not even an option and replied hastily, “Of course not.” 

The pair walked to the entrance where they were again stopped by a scrawny-looking man that could only be Anderson. He is wearing a blue cover suit as well as a sour look on his face when he sees the woman approaching the house.

“Ah. Anderson. Here we are again.” Sherlock stated as she walked up the steps 

Lowering his gaze at her, he replies venomously, “It’s a crime scene, not a place for you to come and ridicule people, Holmes. Stay clear and try not to contaminate anything, got it?”

Sherlock rolled her eyes at him. Even though some Anderson was head of forensics, it did not mean that he actually knew what he was talking about half the time. He was born and raised with buckets of wealth and power that allowed him to get any job he wanted; possessing more control rather than actual power. The first day they met, he had tried his hardest to make sure she was never to interfere with the police. Sherlock could easily tell it was from his fear of not being as intellectual as she was. He always tries to act that he is much more capable than he actually is. It is sad, really.

But there were more important things to tend to. Like, right now, for instance: his smell.

Perching her lips and sniffing the air, Sherlock calmly replied, “Crystal. Is the wife still away?”

Sneering, Anderson said, “Oh do not pretend like you figured that out, you must have heard it from somewhere.”

“Oh please. Your deodorant told me. It’s for men.”

Feeling a little taken back, Anderson spat out, “Of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it aren’t I?!”

Looking as composed as ever, Sherlock shoots back with, “So is Donovan.”

Donovan, who was still standing nearby and able to hear the whole thing, paled the instant those words escaped Sherlock’s mouth. 

Sherlock quickly glanced at John who was slowly starting to make the connection and stifle a laugh.

Raising his hands up in shaken reassurance, Anderson hesitantly replied, “Whatever you are implying, Sher-“

“Oh I am not implying anything,” she simply stated as she walking up the steps to the house, “I am sure that Donovan here came over for a lovely little chat and then stayed the night over.”

Feeling a little cocky and a tad bit bitter, Sherlock took it even a step further.

Turning over her shoulder once again and grinning like a witch, she added, “And I also assume that she rubbed your floors judging by the state of her knees.”  
With that final statement Sherlock entered the house to leave an amused John staring at Donovan’s knees. 

You raise the stake, you get the lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live fo dem comments xD

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are helpful! :)


End file.
